


sea child

by InkWitch (serkestic)



Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Family, Gen, Single Parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-20
Updated: 2014-03-07
Packaged: 2018-01-13 04:28:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1212676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serkestic/pseuds/InkWitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haru finds a merchild flopping about in the sand and decides to adopt. Obviously.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. hello

**Author's Note:**

> Visit us at our Tumblr blog the-free-bunch!

The fishermen on the pier used to tell stories to the wide-eyed children eating popsicles and playing ball on the wooden boards. They would recite their many tales around noon or so, speaking of the water-dragons that came out at dusks and hovered over the dusky horizon, or perhaps the blue-eyed, blue-skinned, blue-teethed poison-fairies that ate fish straight from the salt water. Some of their stories were heartwarming, some fantastic, some just downright ridiculous and frightening. Their stories would constantly change, never the same after a week or so. But one story: well, one story stayed constant.

They spoke of a young man who loved the sea – nay, who loved the water and the fresh stinging air of dawn. This young man, they would say, regularly came out to swim in the mornings, even before the fishermen got up. He’d lie mid-float on his back when the fishermen _did_ come out to start their day – this, apparently, was the respite time before he began swimming again. He seemed possessed, almost, the old men would say with their lowered voices, all he ever did was _swim_ , nothing else. Not even _sporty_ swimming – it wasn’t like he did laps, or anything like they would sometimes see their grandchildren do at those pool clubs in town. He simply… swam. Lived in the water, from dawn to sometime around 11. Then he would swim to shore, wipe dry, dress, and leave – all silently and methodically and without even making eye-contact with the nearby fishermen. Not that they _wanted_ him to make eye-contact; but to try to do so would be human.

Perhaps this was why the young man’s story turned out as it did, the fishermen would say wondering. How _did_ it turn out?, the children would cry. Stop beating about the bush, grandfather! Alright, alright, they would reply. Here is what happened.

One dawn, this young man woke up earlier than usual and saw the lighted sky – have you ever seen that lighted sky? As if the entire sky is just a foggy screen dimming a glowing white lamp – and he decided, on a whim, to go for a jog before his morning swim. That is exactly what he did: he went running and he went to this cove on the beach and there he found something that forever changed his life, his world.

He found a little fish-child, curled up in a bed of moist sand, sucking its thumb and mewling quietly.

The child had silver skin; dull like a fish scale underwater but with a shimmering sheen in the dim light of the heavens. Its tail was hydrous copper-sulphate blue and potassium purple – and its hair was similarly purple, receding into a lighter lilac near its ears. When the young man moved closer, he saw the gills at the child’s neck, flapping and gasping at the little puddle of water it was lying in. It was reaching for the water, the young man realized.

He had never moved so fast on land before: he was as fluid as he was in water as he grabbed the merchild and carried it into the sea, cradling it as he walked in waist-deep, heedless of his clothes. The merchild gasped and spluttered as it went underwater, wriggling in his arms. Its scales scraped at his skin and the feeling was vaguely unpleasant but the young man held still as the child gulped in water through its gills. It turned its small head and looked directly at him with azure eyes.

The young man – what was his _name_?, the children would ask, isn’t he _real_? Well, yes, the fishermen would respond, but we don’t know his name. Somehow we never asked. How could you not _ask_?, the children would say crossly. Do you want to hear the story or not?, the fishermen would snap and the children would subside into meekness again – so the young man, whose name the fishermen did not know, gulped as he looked at the merchild surveying him with interest. The water rippled over its face, but the gaze did not break. The child wriggled more, tail moving up and down and flashing white as the sunlight hit it just so; and the young man thought that it wanted to be let go; so he did.

The fish-child sank like a stone.

With a panicked exclamation, the young man kneeled and caught the merchild in his arms again (feeling a little foolish since there was no tide to pull the child away from him so he didn’t actually need to be worried, _but still_ ). The child gulped and opened its mouth, eyes scrunched shut and nose wiggling furiously – bubbles erupted from its open mouth and the young man realized that the merchild was _crying_. Or rather, _wailing_.

And the young man was nonplussed. What should he do? What was even happening? He could not really believe that he’d just found a washed-up merchild – what _even_ – and this all felt vaguely like a dream. But, dream or not, he couldn’t abandon this babe. (Where was its mother? For some reason, the young man felt a hollow pit in his stomach at the thought of the child’s parent. Something must have _happened_ , right? But the young man hadn’t heard anything of a storm for the past week, so where could this child be from?). He debated for a minute and had just decided to take the merchild to a shallow nearby and go look for help when the merchild in question slithered out of his arms, sliding gracefully into the water.

The young man watched in amazement as the child sank into a sitting position on the sand bed, tail curled underneath it and looked over its shoulder, towards the horizon. He followed the child’s gaze: the sun was coming up, the horizon a white-flame line. It was time to start his routine, the young man thought to himself, and looked down at the child. It gazed at the horizon, turning full-body, and something about its gaze and posture was so wistful and grown-up that he felt close to tears.

He turned towards the beach, feeling restless and wanting to at least swim one lap before he took the merchild to a more _paternal_ friend of his – but stopped as a tiny hand caught onto his ankle. He turned; the fish-child gazed silently up at him. The young man turned back and squatted in the water, replacing his ankle with his index finger. The little fist tightened and the merchild opened its mouth underwater again, corner of the lips turned down in a frown: bubbles exploded in a burst.

He decided to watch the sunrise with the merchild.


	2. goodbye

The young man gave up mackerel for a week.

He thought he was being considerate of his new charge, until a month later, when he saw the merchild literally glomp on a tiny fish and chew in contemplation and realized that he was being an idiot; of course the merchild was an omnivore. It had a human half after all. From then on, the young man went back to his mackerel breakfasts, going so far as to bring raw mackerel slices for the child to eat – the merchild was offended by cooked fish, apparently – and his favourite mornings would be those when he woke extra early and ate breakfast by the waterside with the merchild.

Meanwhile, the merchild couldn’t swim.

Wait, what?, the children would ask flabbergasted. How can a _mer_ child not _swim_? Well, the fishermen would reply with a hum, the merchild was probably a newborn. We never did find out how the merchild came to be upon the beach when the young man found it– Well, how could you, you didn’t even _talk_ to him, the children would interrupt. This story will remain unfinished if you keep interrupting, the fishermen would warn and the children would exchange smug glances, content in their sass and allowing the story to continue.

And so. The fish-child couldn’t swim. The young man tried everything to teach the child how to do so; tried to teach it as he would a young human child, tried to pretend he had flippers and mimicked the movement of fish, tried to lead the child around by the arms to _force_ it to move its tail. But to no avail. It simply couldn’t fathom how to move in the water, other than dragging itself by its upper body, essentially crawling on the shallow seabed. At this, it was fluid and graceful, managing to move meters in a matter of seconds; the young man had to learn to keep his eye on the child at all time, because quite often, the child would crawl away from him and nearly get pulled out into the ocean by the tide. Sometimes, the young man was sure that the merchild did this on _purpose_ , because whenever he swam after it in a panic, cradling it against his chest as he swam back to shore against the tide, arm muscles straining, the child would giggle and cup his face with its chubby fingers. It certainly had a mischievous sense of humor: its favourite past time was hunting down tiny fishes that it would hold in its mouth like a pelican and then spit out in the young man’s face when he came near enough. It would toss its head back and let out a delighted peal of laughter, the sound lingering in the air as if it was loathe to dissipate.

He worried about it, however. He worried what would happen to it if it never learned to swim; if it was tied to the land as surely as he was. For him, it was a way of life and obviously, a necessity; he didn’t have _gills_. But the merchild was a creature of the sea, a being born of foam and scale and aqua: if it didn’t learn how to survive in the water, how would it _live_? The young man puzzled over his predicament for days, his house falling into ruin by neglect and his skin wrinkled constantly from the amount of time he spent in and near water. He did not notice: his life passed in a happy, but anxious blur filled with the merchild’s laugh, the merchild’s scales, the merchild’s grasping hands at his fingers, tugging firmly on his heartstrings as much as on his digits.

It would be more than two months later that the young man finally figures out a way to help his adopted charge; but here’s a curious thing before we get to that.

There was another young man that the fishermen knew – this one’s name they _did_ know, the fishermen would announce haughtily. His name was Tachibana-kun. The children would quietly snort but go unheard by the old men – and he had been on first name basis with the other young man. They were friends; but a closer sort of friends than was normal. Perhaps soulmates is a better word to use: yes, it did seem that they were created by the fates just to become friends with each other, like their souls were made to recognize each other. It was that sort of palpable friendship – call it like you see it gramps, the children would sass, they were _best friends_. Yes, alright, yes, the old men would concede, feeling a bit miffed at the romance taken out so brutally – and this was why it had seemed curious to the fishermen that this nice young man knew absolutely nothing about the fish-child his heart-friend had found.

Until he came across the merchild himself. Tachibana-kun had gone walking along the shores edge one noon; the sky was caustically clear and the hue of it hit the eye like a bullet. The fishermen were packing up for lunch when they met him, a worried wrinkle between his eyebrows, asking if they’d seen his friend on the shore. The fishermen had obviously known – _assumed_ , you mean, the children would interrupt. Alright then – they had obviously assumed that the young man was down with his merchild, playing by the pearly waves. They had begun to catch sight of the young man more often, so it was a fair assumption to make. Tachibana-kun had thanked them and followed the way pointed out by their gnarled fingers.

He heard the splashing and the bell-like laughter first; he saw the flicker and glitter of sunshine bouncing of the child’s scales next; he felt the warm brush of the waves and the child’s fingers on his calves, final, as he toppled over by the force of the child’s weight. The merchild had launched itself at him, his arms cradling it in automatic response – he had two younger siblings, he knew how to manage children – his smile already in place even though he didn’t even know what he was smiling _at_. Then he blinked. And blinked again, as the mysterious young man held out a hand to him, expressionless and silent.

He was not even remotely surprised to learn that his friend had apparently found an offspring of the sea. Hearing about the predicament, however, made him worry all along with his friend: they stared at the child as it lay supine on the beach, blowing raspberries underwater and giggling at the silver bubbles that issued over its face.

“What sex is it?” Tachibana-kun asked his friend; who shrugged in response. Obviously he didn’t know how to differentiate sexes of fish. Tachibana-kun, luckily, was a marine biology student in Tokyo; though he did not study merpeople – seeing as how merpeople were supposed to be creatures of myth, the fishermen would add – he speculated that the child was probably a male. It had a lean tail, vibrant colored scales, and its dorsal fins were angular and trailed behind it like ribbons. The friend shrugged once more, what did it matter what sex the child was? What was more important was how they were going to teach it to _swim_.

Tachibana-kun gave his friend a rueful glance and apologized; he just got a little caught up with his studies sometimes and this certainly was an once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, to see a merperson up close. His friend’s silence grew steadily grimmer until Tachibana-kun shut up his sparkle-eyed monologue; he looked at the young man questioningly.

“It’s not an experimental subject,” the young man said. “It’s a person. Who needs our help, not our scrutiny.” He had grown very possessive and protective over his fish-child.

His insensitiveness about the merchild grew to be a point of discomfort between them until the young man saw his friend teach his child how to build a sandcastle one day. The merchild stared in bug-eyed wonder as it helped Tachibana-kun build a sandcastle underwater that was twice its size sitting up; he’d had to get driftwood and surrounding twigs to give a very strong foundation and he had selected a day with very little waves to teach the child – this reminder of Tachibana-kun’s inherent compassion mollified the young man and he went over to help search for decorative shells.

It was Tachibana-kun too that finally helped the young man solve the dilemma on how to teach his child to swim. The sky overhead was cast grey, and the eastern horizon was bruised purple and blue: the winds were low and murmuring still, but the sharp bite of the air heralded a summer storm. The young man had been growing panicked, though the child seemed to consider this new weather to be another adventure. The merchild grew smoother in the cool water, somehow, its movements less speculative and more comfortable. It cartwheeled underwater, forming a ring with its body, urging a laugh from the young man; but to no avail. The young man sat with Tachibana-kun on the water’s edge, studying his innocent child’s smile, heart growing cold at the thought of the summer storm tearing that away from him.

“Makoto…” the young man said slowly, eyes trained on the ripples just as Tachibana-kun was staring at the slow approaching clouds.

“I know,” was his response and the young man nodded, gripping his forearms in an effort to restrain his heart.

They decided that the merchild could not be taken out of the sea water; fish of the sea die in freshwater and they were not going to risk that happening to the child. There was a cave a little way down the shore, past the boardwalk, Tachibana-kun said. There were shallow grotto pools there, which grew deeper at high tide. Some of the walls would have sharp, jutting rocks, but they could prevent any harm coming to the child if they were careful. If worst came to worst, they would carry the child home in a tub of sea-water.

The problem was how to get the fish-child to go to the cavern. It could not swim and _crawling_ there was certainly out of the question; the young man decided he would simply carry it there while swimming. But when he tried to take the child in his arms, it let out a wail of dismay and struggled to be let loose. It flopped back onto the sand bed, looking up in reproach and grasping its fins to itself – much like the young man would hug his knees while sitting on the beach. When the young man attempted to coax it into his arms, the child flailed and crawled some distance away, glaring and shaking its head and muttering bubbles.

The young man swam to the child and the child wriggled lithely away; it looked like a dance, Tachibana-kun reflected as he watched them, and it soon seemed to turn into a game for the merchild. The young man approached, the merchild retraced, sinewy bodies circling like taijitu. After a few seconds of watching them absentminded, Tachibana-kun let out an exclamation: the dancers glanced at him in surprise.

“Swim! Swim!” Tachibana-kun was practically incoherent in his revelation and the other two simply stared uncomprehending. He gestured at his friend wildly. “ _Swim_.”

The young man looked back at the merchild, sharing a momentary look of confusion, and then it dawned on him; he flipped around immediately, turning his back to the merchild and swimming away. The fish-child let out a cry of annoyance and crawled after him, wriggling its tail to propel itself along faster. This was what Tachibana-kun had noticed: the merchild was _almost_ swimming, but not quite. The young man glanced back and gave his child a mischievous smile, speeding up; the child reacted as expected, letting out a peal of laughter and struggling to catch up with him. Tachibana-kun ran alongside the water, keeping a sharp eye out in case the tide pulled the child into the sea. It was moving its tail in stronger strokes now, the fins leaving a trail of ivory bubbles in its wake. The child let out another giggle; its arms were almost a blur and then– and then–

 It raised its arms and leaped out of the water.

The young man stopped to gaze in astonishment and delight; Tachibana-kun barely restrained himself from letting out a whoop, conscious that they were under the boardwalk. The merchild swam to the young man and held out its arms; looped them around his neck as he pulled it into his lap, it nuzzled into the young man’s chest and let out a low sigh. It seemed so happy, content, _right_ in the young man’s arms; and the look of utter satisfaction on his face brought Tachibana-kun to tears.

They camped out in the cavern all night, the merchild curled up in the young man’s arms and the two youths huddled against each other against the whistling breeze. They remembered one such other night, when they had two other friends to huddle with. Tachibana-kun barely trembled in the summer storm’s wake anymore – ah yes, the fishermen would exclaim, we haven’t told you, the nice young man was afraid of the sea. Like you, ne, Ame-chan? And the children would chorus for them to go on – and his friend watched the passing of the purple winds with him. The waves were cold, yes, but constant exercise kept them warm; the merchild did not wake even as it was passed from embrace to embrace.

The following week, however, both young men came down with colds and fevers from staying out in the storm, and had to take turns in staying with the fish-child. It took the young man more time to recover his strength than it did Tachibana-kun; but he overstrained himself in trying to get better, the sooner to get back to his sea-child. But when both young men were hale and hearty once more, they went down to the waterside to say goodbye.

The sun was a crimson blaze and the waters were dark with anticipation: the fish-child sat for a long time just staring at the play of colors on the rippled sea. The young man watched his merchild inhale and exhale through its gills; it had grown so much bigger and he had not noticed. It was leaner now, body suppler and less chubby, fins sharper and tougher, scales more iridescent than ever. It had grown gills at its sides now; though the lips were broader and more translucent than those at its neck. The edges were tinged violet and the young man wondered if that was its blood color. The merchild looked back at him to transfix him with those azure eyes.

When it swam into the sea, it merged instantly with the black-blue waves and the tip of the sun disappeared over the horizon.


End file.
